Changing colors
by Morbius10
Summary: A year ago, Peter Parker donned the mask of Spiderman. But now, a man in a white mask is terrorising the city he has vowed to protect. Peter must now come to grips with his responsibilities as he tries to beat a foe he is no match for.
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER-1**

Darkness had descended on the city. A half-moon hung over the steel towers of Manhattan, shining its silvery light on proceedings below.

"Good job tonight Dmitri!" a man called out of an open door. "Rehearsals were a pain tonight, but you did good"

The man called Dmitri, grunted in approval as he walked out into the night.

It had rained heavily some time ago. Drops of rain clung on to the glass-fronts of the shops on Broadway, while pedestrians walked around with their umbrellas in expectance of another downpour.

Dimitri Smerdiyakov, however, did not even bother to straighten the collars of his overcoat as a harsh wind ploughed through the avenue. The cold winds of November were inconsequential to him. Pushing past a group of homeless teenagers, he cut through an alley. Incidentally, one of the homeless kids followed him.

"You want a fight man! I could drop you in a second!". The boy was a ponytailed ruffian who barely reached his elbow. "Oy, I'm talking to you"

Unable to shake him off, he flashed a look of annoyance at the boy. Surprisingly, the little bugger ran off, peeling with laughter. Back home, he would have had him up in chains. Kids got off too easy in this country.

Walking with purpose, he located his destination - Red Note restaurant. He shifted his eye from the lavish exteriors to the glass panes of the shop. Almost instantly, he spotted his target – a man with dirty blonde hair seated right against the window. Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the cozy interiors of the cuisine. The warm smell of coffee permeated the closed atmosphere.

Making his way through the cluster of tables, he sat down opposite to the blonde man. It was more of a booth, than a table.

"Mr. Smythe", Dmitri greeted.

"Spencer, please. Formalities are a bygone in this era, I'm afraid"

He removed his hat and placed it on the counter. "You brought what I asked?"

"Down to business already? No chit-chat?" Spencer Smythe asked in a buttered tone.

"Nothing to chat about. I wanted something, and you can give it to me"

"Very true. But the nature of your order was quite… rare, if I do say so myself"

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing. I'm just merely curious as to how you plan to use this device, though, I have my suspicions"

"I don't care about your _damn_ curiosity? Did you build it or not?"

"Oh yes, there are very few things I cannot build", he smirked. "Though it was not easy to build your specific request, I came through with it. In fact, I managed to put in a few inputs of my own"

"Well, where is it?"

"Patience my dear friend. It is a virtue like no other. Before I hand it to you, or show you the device in question, there are some things to be made clear"

Dmitri clasped the rims of his hat and leaned back into his chair. "I am listening"

"As you very well know, I work for a very, let's just say, _privileged_ client, who would like to remain anonymous at all costs. So, my first request would be, that by no means am I to be linked to your actions with regard to this device. If anyone asks, you built it."

"Do you take me to be a fool? I know how to-"

"Hush now. These are merely the terms of negotiation. There is no need to get upset over this, or maybe you don't want the device anymore?"

"Hmf…Continue"

"As I was saying, no red herrings. Second of all, I need something in return"

"I have money"

"Money is merely trinket to me. My client pays me enough to satisfy all worldly desires. What I want from you is much more valuable."

He bit the insides of his cheek feverishly. "What do you want?"

The smirk on Smythe's face deepened, "You know, I ran a background check on you last night. I was _absolutely_ delighted by what I found."

He immediately swerved his head around, in fear of someone eavesdropping. "Quiet! There are ears everywhere!"

But instead of saying anything, Smythe pulled out an old musty file from the back pocket of his coat. Dmitri had seen it before, but in a place far away, and a long, long time back.

"Look at what this says-", Smythe said, as he opened the folder. The first page was covered with mugshots. "Fifteen years in Moscow prison. Impressive. Your repertoire speaks for itself."

He grabbed Smythe's hands. "What do you want from me?"

"Yes, _now_ you understand the nature of your predicament." Smythe said with a smile.

"There is something I need you to do"

_XXX_

"I'm not sick Aunt May!"

"But you sneezed, Peter! Thrice!"

"Doesn't mean I'm sick!"

"Doesn't mean you're perfectly healthy either". She tried in vain to stick the thermometer into his mouth, "Why is your hair wet? Have you been out in the rain?"

Peter ducked away from her. Making a wild turn, he ran up the stairs to his room. "I'm not sick, May!", he shouted, as he slammed the door to his room.

As soon as he was secure, he grabbed his towel and vigorously dried his hair. A bad flu was definitely due and his throat already felt scratchy. He pinched his nostrils just in time to stop another sneeze. One more sneeze and his aunt would burst in. He rushed to his washbasin and blew his nose.

"Ugh", he groaned, as copious amounts of mucus streamed out. "Yuck"

Once he had satisfactorily cleaned himself, he glared at the pair of white goggles hanging from his coat stand. His drenched red and blue costume was dripping onto the carpeted floor.

The evening had been an absolute nightmare. He had spent hours upon hours, slipping and sliding off perches and walls, and having a horrible time as he tried to scale to higher grounds. Even his trusty webs-shooters, which had served him satisfactorily till now, had been useless in the rain.

Later, his embarrassment had reached new heights when he had slipped off his web-line and landed right in the middle of a puddle. A group of New Yorkers, each carrying an umbrella, had descended on him instantly, taking pictures and laughing their asses off. Eventually he had escaped, but not without losing some of his dignity.

Grumbling, he picked up his webs-shooters and placed them onto his desk. He _absolutely_ needed them to work the next time he went out in a storm.

He unscrewed each part and let the water dribble out. He checked and double-checked the wirings for any faults. Unable to find any, he began working on the composition of his webs. The adhesive wasn't reacting well to water, which was understandable, considering the fact water was a really good solvent. So, the logical thing to do would be to increase the density; that way it wouldn't get diluted so fast.

But increasing the density would have problems of its own. It would mean he would run out of webs faster than usual. He dropped a pellet into a glass of water, as he thought of alternatives.

He didn't know how long he spent tinkering with the project. It must have been hours. Only when the screen of his phone lit up and the caller ringtone ensued, did Peter finally stir from his work. It was his photography teacher.

"Mr. Morrison", he rasped.

"Peter, sorry to disturb you at this time of the night"

"What's up?"

"I was just on my way to bed, when I remembered an urgent matter"

"Mm-hmm?"

"It's related to your submission last week"

Without meaning to, he blushed, "Wait, before you give me a C, I can explain the chihuahuas"

"I can understand why you're appalled. I didn't ask for dog pictures last week."

"I was working in a daze. I didn't mean to submit those."

"It's fine, we can hear your excuses later. No, I was talking about a much more interesting snap of yours. The one in the alley?"

"You'll have to be more specific sir. I don't remember every picture I take"

"I see. Well, does the one with the red and blue streak ring a bell?"

The blood in his veins froze, "You mean... You mean the one with... "

"Well, at first I wasn't so sure. The lighting in the shot was so dim, that I had no inkling what I was looking at," his teacher explained. "So naturally, I scanned it and started enhancing it. I needed to know what I was grading you on. "

Peter already knew where this conversation was leading now. Full blown trouble.

"It took me a few hours, putting in light sources, removing blurs, enhancing the textures, but guess what, it all paid off! I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw the final product! " his teachers voice was full of childish glee.

"Umm... Good for you, sir. But I made a mistake. I didn't mean to turn that picture in". It had been a ridiculous photograph. He had used his uncle's old camera and had regretted it almost immediately.

"And good for you as well Mr. Parker! You not only aced last week's homework, but you also managed to get a photo of New York's elusive vigilante. You can't believe how proud I am."

"I aced the homework?" he asked, not sure he had heard right.

"Yup definitely. You brought me a picture of Spiderman. Of course, you aced my test."

"But it wasn't part of last weeks topic. You asked for pictures of historical sites in the city"

"Pff, a trivial matter. I can grade my students however I like."

"Oh ok", he was pretty sure that was wrong.

"But that isn't all Mr. Parker. I was so enthused by your piece of work, that I couldn't keep it to myself"

Oh, no. If trouble was where he was headed before, this was certain doom.

"I don't know if you are aware of this. But as it turns out, pictures of Spiderman are selling like hot cakes. Papers like New York Times and The Daily Bugle are scouring for good shots. So,... I sent them a copy of yours."

"You...What?!", he blustered on the phone.

"And...well, The Bugle called back. Today. "

"They called back? The Daily Bugle", his head was spinning now.

"Yes, they sent a mail, saying they would like to meet the photographer. They've set up an appointment and everything"

He didn't even bother to reply back this time. How on earth could he have been so careless. After months of planning and sneaking out at night, and covering up his bruises and lying to Aunt May, how could he have jeopardised it all in a single stroke.

"Now Peter, I know what you are thinking. It was wrong of me to send your picture without your consent, and it probably was, but you have to understand, this is a wonderful opportunity for you to-"

But Peter had already hung up. He didn't want to hear another word. What he wanted to do was sink through the floor and disappear.

What were the people at the Bugle going to ask him? Probably something like – "how did a sixteen years old manage to click a picture of Spiderman when every other professional photographer in New York was failing miserably?'.

And how was he going to explain it? – "Just happened to be in the right place at the right time, sir." _Yeah_ , he was dead.

He buried his head in a nearby pillow. Why, oh why, couldn't he just catch a break?

_XXX_

Dmitri lashed out in fury.

" _You understand the nature of your predicament, Mr. Smerdyakov? I know things about you. Your prison stint in Russia? I uncovered it. It was mere child's play. I know how you escaped, I know where you work, where you sleep, where you spent your last 48 hours. I can even send the cops to your doorstep on false charges. So unless you want that to happen, you'll do exactly what I say."_

His bedside table crashed to the ground, as he raged around his dingy apartment.

" _My client has big plans for New York. A true vision. But for his vision to come to pass, certain arrangements have to be made. You see, my employer will be carrying out some sensitive work over the next few months, and you remember when I mentioned before, that he relishes his anonymity? Well, the cops have been slightly brave recently and have trespassed into his territory, and so forth. What I need you to do is create a distraction, a spectacle, a grand show, something to hook the masses, and keep the police busy."_

He grabbed hold of a table lamp, and sent it rocketing into the opposite wall, shattering the bulb in the process.

"Will you stop that!" his landlady's screeched from downstairs. "It's two in the morning, and I haven't been able to catch a wink because of you. Another sound and I'm kicking you out!"

He resisted the urge to chuck another glass bottle against the wall, just out of spite. His one room apartment wasn't anything glamorous, or even adequately furnished, but it was still a hell of a lot cheaper than the usual Manhattan rented spaces. So, instead he took deep breaths.

Lightly walking up to his dresser, he picked up a razor knife. The metal on the handle was corroded, and the edge was no longer as sharp. Weighing it in his hands, he walked back to his bed, where a brown package lay. He skillfully slit the top open and poured out the contents onto his mattress.

A huge collection of wires spilled out. It seemed like a complete mess. There was wiring connected to innumerable sophisticated contraptions, wires connecting to small wafer-like semiconductors, and even wires running down a black cloth.

" _You are a highly elusive man, I'll tell you that. Your past is peppered with disguises and aliases. If I wasn't looking at the right places, I would never have figured them out to be the same person. Your skill of deception…. is admirable."_

He pushed the wires away. Somewhere sitting at the bottom of the pile, was a white bag. He gingerly pulled it up, and examined it. No, not a bag, it was a mask, a featureless mask. The light from the flickering bulb, glinted off its polished surface.

" _But you want more than just disguises, don't you? You want to be the ultimate actor. The greatest showman of all time! Well Dmitri, here's your chance", Spencer Smythe smiled at him._

"The greatest showman?", he whispered to himself, as he stared into the dark eyeholes of the mask.

"I will be better."

_XXX_


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER-2**

 _School was over by noon. The corridors were suddenly filled with kids scrambling to get out. A few stayed behind for detention. She wished she were one of them._

 _Quite reluctantly, she gathered her things and followed the others. Outside, her friends offered to walk home with her, but she declined._

 _The weather was nice. Bright and sunny, and full of life. It was a cruel and pitiful act of nature - to show her what she was missing._

 _She cut a shortcut through a back alley into the next street where waiting for her was a man, who was leaning against an old muscle car. As she approached he lit a cigarette between the cup of his hands._

 _"_ _Took you long enough", he grunted._

 _Silently she slid into the passenger door._

 _"_ _Hey! I said something," the cigarette hung feebly from his sooty lips, as he got into the driver seat._

 _"_ _Just drive."_

 _A rough calloused hand grabbed her wrist. "You don't order me around kiddo! It would do you good to remember whose roof you live under."_

 _The hand came off and the engine revved. She gingerly massaged her wrist._

 _"_ _Fourteen fuckin' years and still no respect. Not a bone of decency in your body. "_

Not for you, no.

 _"_ _What? Nothing to say? You know what, that's some improvement for you. Finally, some manners!"_

 _The weather wasn't nice anymore. The trees looked dull and dreary. Bright colours had vanished. Nothing seemed to pop anymore._

 _"_ _God! I hate the day you were born!", the voice seemed to drown her. Bog her down into the marshland of empty thoughts._

_XXX_

MJ woke up with a muffled gasp. The room was shrouded in darkness. Outside, the night seemed to be playing out its very last vestiges. A quick look at her phone told her it was still a solid two hours before dawn.

Great! Waking up _way_ too early on a Sunday! Absolutely Fantastic!

There was no way she was getting any sleep after _that_ dream. Feeling unsettled, she got off the bed. Cold sweats were burning into her skin, chilling her even further. The gust of wind flowing in through the window made her wish she'd shut it before going to bed.

The bustling of traffic outside stunned her. Even in the residential zones of Queens where she lived, the streets were flooded with a continuous stream of multi-colored cars.

Truly, New York was a city that never slept. Just looking down at the streets below, she realized it. Ironically though, the people born and bred in this tapestry were the one's who never took a proper look at it. She wondered if years down the line she, herself, would become one of those people. The city would someday become such an intricate part of her life that she would fail to notice its existence just as fish does water, and man air.

And it scared her. To be inextricably linked to this place seemed a daunting prospect. How many dreams had been crushed here, she wondered. How many forgotten souls inhabited its dark corners? It seemed more than likely she too would have her spirit torn away in this giant bubbling cauldron.

Suddenly, a movement caught her eye. It was slow and deliberate, and she wouldn't have noticed it had it not been so close. The window of her neighbour's house slowly slid open and a brown haired boy emerged from within. Peter Parker is nimble on his feet, she thought. But what the heck is he doing, standing on the roof?

She knew for a fact that the Parkers were her neighbours. Aunt Anna had made that quite clear in the brief two months she had spent here, by regaling her with tales of the great kid who lived next door. She was full of praise - how polite and thoughtful he was; a promising kid with a promising future.

Well, she wasn't as sure what that _promising_ boy seemed to be doing lying on the fire escape with his feet hanging over the ledge. Not a great idea. A fall would surely break his neck.

Maybe, it was his way of rebelling. Maybe all that polite and thoughtful bullshit had finally cracked him.

That would certainly explain his attitude. The last time they spoke he'd come off as a jerk; nothing at all like the knight in Aunt Anna's tales.

But then again, who was she to judge. Hadn't she been through enough in her own life? Maybe Peter Parker had too.

Maybe everyone had.

_XXX_

Peter didn't want to get off the bus.

It was his stop, but the yawning doors of The Daily Bugle building looked at him sternly, as if to say, " _You dare!"._ Nervously, he disembarked and inspected the grandiose building.

But everywhere he looked, all he could see were huge billboards covered with the face of J. Jonah Jameson, the editor-in-chief of The Daily Bugle. He didn't know which was more impressive – his late 60's moustache or his ferocious scowl. Swallowing his anxiety, he walked in.

Five minutes later, he exited the elevator with a visitor's pass pinned to his chest. The place was a mess - people shouting over cubicles, people rushing in and out of closed doors, cameramen blocking the corridors. It was all busy, busy and busy. And thankfully, no one was paying any attention to him. He had imagined he would stick out like a sore thumb.

A nearby door suddenly swung open. A tall man and a portly fellow stepped out.

"Where's the fire safety article I asked for?"

"Didn't Urich have it?"

"Well, where is Urich?"

"Don't know. Haven't seen him since coffee break."

"Off working on his own again?"

"You know what he's like, Robbie, never rests on his haunches."

"He better bring me something good. I need that article."

"Umm, excuse me", he called, stepping in front of them. "I'm…. new here, Peter Parker… I was called here…. because of a picture"

"Mr. Parker?"

"Yeah."

"The one with the Spiderman picture?"

"Yeah… I think so"

"Hmm, Joseph Robertson", the man extended his hand. "You can call me Robbie. Everyone does. Follow me."

They made their way through a trail of open corridors, until they came upon a door that said "J. J. Jameson, Chief editor". That anxious feeling in his chest increased tenfold.

"After you Mr. Parker", Robbie said.

Swallowing his panic, he stepped in.

" **A Rabbit! A missing rabbit?!** Who does she think I am, the head of Buzzfeed?"

A pause and then, "I don't **care** if she's eight! Get her a babysitter or something. I'm trying to run a paper here, for christ's sake".

The phone hit the desk with a loud thud.

Just like the billboard outside, Jameson looked like a 60's comic book character. Peter couldn't help but feel that some of the frown lines on his face were a bit unnatural. How angry was this guy?

"Boss", Robbie greeted.

"Robertson, get in here! My wife's been calling **all day** about some plumbing nonsense. I need you to make a call to the city office. Get the best plumbers on the job. I want this thing done before noon."

A resigned sigh escaped Robbie's lips. "I'm not your PA, Jonah. I imagine Ms. Brant would be more suited for this task?"

" **Briana!" bellowed Jameson.**

"It's Betty, Jonah. Betty Brant. Jesus, she's been working here for a year."

"That's what I said. **Betty!** "

"She's not at her desk. Coffee break, I think"

" **Again?!** **By my 'stache!** What am I paying her for?"

"Not to manage your anger, that's for sure", Robbie mumbled under his breath. "Look, I'm not here for… whatever you think I am here for. This….", a hand pushed Peter forward. "….is Peter Parker. The kid you asked for? The one who took the picture of priority number one."

An eerie silence filled the room, as Jameson's cold journalistic eyes analyzed him.

"Pablo huh?"

"Parker, sir."

"Took a Spiderman picture?"

"Yes, sir."

"Hmmm, 'twas a real piece of crap."

"I beg your pardon, sir?"

"But, you're the only one with a photo of that second-rate-do-gooder."

"Umm…. Thanks."

"I'm using it for tomorrow's front page."

"You are?"

"Yup. Gotta make sure you knew about it though, since you're the photographer and yada-yada-yada. I suppose you'll want to get paid?"

"P- **Paid?** "

"Or not. Sounds good to me!"

"No no I'd like to get paid"

"How much?"

How much? Well money was a hard thing to come by at the Parker house. His monthly allowance barely covered his own expenses, let alone his crime fighting alter-ego's. It was an understatement that being a vigilante was expensive on one's life-style.

That being said, he also knew that a picture of Spiderman was a rare thing to come by. In fact, his might be the only one in the entire city, which meant this picture could be a golden ticket.

"A million dollars!", he said with a confident smile.

The neutral expression on Jameson's face crumbled into a bazillion pieces. Even Robbie looked slightly uncomfortable.

"Umm Peter, we don't pay photographers millions. There wouldn't be a Bugle if we did."

"Oh…. Of course, right."

"Why don't you try something more reasonable? Something like four hundred? That sounds reasonable?"

"Yeah, that's good"

"Done!", Jameson grunted signing a check. "And Perry?"

"Peter, sir"

"You get any more pics like this, you bring them here, all right?"

"Can I get a job? Like a contract? Where I get paid every month, you know? And I bring you these photographs?", Peter asked elated.

A sickeningly sweet smile spread across JJJ's face.

"Sure kid! I'd love to help you out….. **ARE YOU CRAZY?** **GET OUT! Don't show your face here until you get me more pictures! OUUTTT!"**

_XXX_

"I never get why they have to be so hot?" MJ asked.

"That's how you drink it dear, hot! Otherwise it's just poison," Aunt Anna replied.

"Doesn't mean they have to burn my lips off."

"My my, Mary. I never took you for the complaining type."

"I just…. Don't like coffee much"

"But you're the one who ordered it! We had a full menu to contend with, but you said a simple coffee would do!"

"Yeah, not really sure why I said that", she mumbled.

"Mary Jane, look at me", Aunt Anna said suddenly. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"You don't look okay."

"I'm fine."

Her aunt sighed. "Is it your father?"

She spluttered on the burning sip. "What? Why would you say that?"

"Nothing really. But we don't have to talk unless you want to."

A silence followed.

"But if you won't talk about it, then you _have_ to stop acting so glum! It's a Sunday! We're in Manhattan! Eating at a restaurant! I didn't bring you here to be _sad_!"

"No? I thought that's why we were here"

"There you go. Finally, some cheek! At least we've got that in common"

"Really? You're cheeky?"

"Honey, you have no idea. I used to annoy the living daylights out of my father. Your grand-dad didn't have much in the way of a sense of humor, you see."

She grinned at her aunt's vivacious spirit.

"That's more like it! You look gorgeous when you smile, dear."

"Well you do too!"

Her aunt giggled. "Ten points! For making an old lady feel good about herself"

"Old? Who said you're old?"

From there on, she genuinely enjoyed her company. They talked about her job as a dentist, the kinds of patient she dealt with then, and then it turned to her new school, her new classmates, how she missed her old friends, and all sorts of pleasant talk. Time flew like a bullet.

"A blog? Really?"

"It isn't much. I started it….. I don't know, a year ago maybe"

"Wow, that's great. What kind of blog is it?" her aunt asked.

"It's….. you know, daily stuff. News reports, my own opinions on various topic, it's a mixture, really. Sometimes I even use it to rant on things I hate."

"Blow off some steam, am I right?" Anna smiled.

"Well, I try to remain as unbiased as possible, but sometimes going off the handle is _really_ refreshing."

"Whatever be the case, I want you to know….. I'm proud of you."

They held each other's gaze for a moment, a silent understanding passing between them.

"I know you're not comfortable talking about it", her aunt said suddenly. "But, I visited you in Carolina once. You probably don't remember. You were just five or six. And I saw what Philip was doing to you. No food in the refrigerator, no money in the dresser, just beer bottles. The whole house reeked of alcohol."

"And cigarettes."

"Madeline would never have allowed it, believe me. She would never have let her own daughter suffer like that."

"He always told me I killed her."

A horrified expression came upon Anna's face.

"He said it to me every day, to the point where I actually started to believe him. I was so young."

"He was a monster."

"He was what circumstance had made him, I guess. A product of his time, perhaps …. But that never stopped me from hating him."

"And now?... Has anything changed now?"

She lowered her gaze. "I don't know…..I-I don't know if anything's changed with his….death."

"I see."

The light from the sun was dimming outside. Manhattan was coming alive with thousands of tiny lights. The streets were bustling; weekend or not, the traffic was still the same. It was going to take hours to get back home. But she didn't want to go back just yet. She had had such a good time, the most in a long, long time. Maybe she should do this more often; go shopping, eat at restaurants, travel around the world, live in five-star hotels, meet all sorts of peo-

That's when she heard it - Gunfire.

It came out of nowhere, but it sounded close. Closer than she would have liked. There it was again. Right outside.

Panic ensued inside the shop. People were screaming all around her. Their reaction stunned her even more. What was wrong with her? Why did she feel dazed?

" **MJ! MJ! Mary Jane!** "

"What!"

"We have to go!", her aunt's surprisingly firm hand pulled her to her feet.

"How? It's….. they're right outside!"

The glass-front of the shop burst open as bullets riddled in, drawing even more screams. She had no idea if anyone was hurt or worse dead.

"The kitchen door! Out the back! Now"

"But what about these people?"

"They'll follow us when they see we have a way out. Now, let's go!"

She wasn't sure how her aunt was making these rational choices. But she was glad that one of them was.

"Stay low, and try to avoid the glass."

The gunshots were still echoing across the block. In the back of her head, she was sure she could hear maniacal laughter somewhere far off. Where on earth were the cops?

((()))

The cops as it turned out, never showed up. Someone else did.

Three gun-wielding thugs cut down pedestrians, cars and shop fronts with their semi-automatic rifles.

"But I thought there was money involved in this, Dmitri!", one of them shouted over the gunshots.

"Not everything's about money Carlos! Are you not enjoying this?"

The man called Carlos frowned for a second and then, "Fair point."

So mad they were with power they never saw the red and blue figure diving at them from above. When Carlos was hit straight in the chest and sent flying back, the other two men stopped in stunned silence.

"Always wanted to try that", the costumed attacker said.

That was when all hell broke loose.

((()))

Once out of the back door, MJ peeked out of a corner to make sure the coast was clear.

"Can you see anything?"

"It's all dark. The lights have been shot down"

"Shit!" her aunt swore.

"We can't stop now"

Slowly, they made their way out into the empty street. Every place seemed to be deserted. It was unnerving to hear the gunshots so close. Her eardrums were practically throbbing with pain.

Three figures in black, each carrying a rifle, were firing off into the distance. Their mad laughter reached her ears, making her shudder in fear. She and her aunt hid behind a red convertible. It wasn't an ideal place for cover, but anything would do, considering.

And speaking of cover, where on earth was the NYPD? Weren't they supposed to respond to this sort of terror attack?

She peeked out from her cover and observed the gunmen. What are they doing? This didn't make any sense. Shooting at the crowd - what was there to be gained? Except death and destruction.

Somewhere high above the attackers, a flash caught her eye. It was moving fast, faster than she could follow. There it was again. Was that…. A man?

Without any further notice, a red and blue costumed man landed in the midst of the three gunners, knocking one out almost immediately.

"What on earth!", her aunt exclaimed beside her.

A similar thought went through her head. This new figure moved with _inhuman_ speed. Not a single bullet seemed to touch him. So fast was this guy, that on few occasions he was merely a blur.

"This is our chance. We have to leave while they're distracted."

"But what about the people? At the restaurant?" MJ asked.

"They're smarter than you think. Look there"

A row of civilians were making their way out of the back alley. They were following the same route as them.

"Now let's go!"

Using the row of cars parked by the curb as cover, they made their way towards the exit. On their way to safety, she heard the magic sound she was waiting for. Sirens. A lot of them.

"Do you hear that?", her aunt asked.

"Cops. About time as well."

"No, the gunfire. I think it stopped."

She was right. The deafening hail of bullets had definitely ceased, leaving behind an eerie silence. Was the nightmare finally over?

((()))

"It's over!", Peter shouted through his mask.

Two of the perpetrators were lying on the ground in an unseemly position, knocked cold. The third was hanging upside down from a lamppost, covered in webs.

Sirens wailed in the distance. The cops would be here any second, which meant he had to make his exit.

"I've heard about you", said the upside down man. A white mask covered his face. He wasn't as unconscious as Peter had suspected.

"Yeah? I am a bit of a celebrity. Always have been."

"Well after your performance tonight, consider me a fan!"

"Ugh! And people ask me why I never interact with my fans."

"Well, I obviously don't know who you _really_ are, but perhaps you're wondering who I'm behind the mask."

"I don't give a crap! You are a terrorist! "

"Terrorist? I'm a showman! This was a show! An introduction!"

"Are you serious? Well Mr. Showman, would you like an Oscar for your performance?"

"Are you mocking me?", the man raged. "The Oscar is for fools! A mockery of our society's penchant for entertainment and market value!"

"This from a guy in a white Halloween mask"

"This is not a Halloween mask!", the man protested, clearly triggered. "You cannot even begin to fathom-"

"Shut it McKenzie!", Peter shouted. "All I hear is a load of crap coming out of your mouth"

The man appeared stunned by his rebuttal, but it was hard to be sure with a mask over his head. "Why do you try so hard?", the man asked suddenly.

"Pardon?"

"Why do you try to be like them? Why are you trying to act normal, when you _so_ clearly are not. You and I, we're both cut from the same cloth. We're two masked men living a lie. We're different from _them._ "

"Is that what you tell yourself? Is that how you get a sense of entitlement? Does your mask give you a sense of superiority over others?"

"It does!", he said. "And so should _yours!_ It elevates you above the masses!"

"Hmm, Funny way of putting it. Because my mask has brought me nothing more than trouble. I would gladly hang it up if I could"

"Then you're a fool as well! You do not understand the value of what you have…. Of what you could _become!_ "

"Tell me something…. Do you always talk this much, or only when you get caught?"

"Bah! You're much more annoying than I had presumed."

"Likewise"

The sirens were just around the corner. He was cutting it real close with this. The cops were going to make an entrance any time now.

"I am disappointed", the man proffered at last. "I expected more from you."

"Oh yeah! Well guess what, that's life. You _never_ get what you want. Take me for example; I was on the verge of a _real_ nice nap just a while back. It was the most beautiful thing, until I woke up halfway through it, to find out a bunch of maniacs tearing up my city!"

"You're just a child", the man said finally.

"And you're an adult. So grow out of it already!"

Tired of this conversation and just tired in general, he swung away.. Not a moment later the cops rushed in.

"You'll see me again Spiderman." Smerdiyakov promised, as he watched the hero swing out of sight.

"Sooner than you think!"

_XXX_


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER-3**

"Look, I feel like we got off on the wrong foot. You're new to Midtown, and well, I should have controlled my temper better. "

Bio was always torture, what with Miles Warren breathing down your neck at all times; but working with a difficult partner made it excruciating.

Mary Jane turned towards him and raised an eyebrow – almost a mocking gesture.

"Did you say something?"

"Just that... We started off on a sour note," Peter repeated.

"Care to elaborate"

"You _know_ what I'm talking about"

Well he hoped she did, otherwise he was going to be embarrassed.

Instead of answering him directly, she cocked her head to one side and stuck the end of her pencil in her mouth; something he found really distracting.

"So, let's see... Are you talking about the time you _bailed_ on the history group study we set up?"

"Well, as a matter of fact-"

"Or maybe, you're talking about how you _promised_ you would show up at our _next_ study appointment... And you never did."

"Something-"

" _And,_ if broken promises aren't enough... You _also_ happened to _yell_ at me the next day because I submitted the project _without_ your help"

" I thought-"

"Do you want me to go on?"

"Parker and Watson!", Warren bellowed from the front of the class. "How about I call you both to the front of the class so you both can share whatever it is you're whispering about in my class!"

Peter's face slowly turned red at all the grinning faces around him. Some like Flash Thompson were even guffawing out loud. That idiot would never leave him alone would he, not if the entire universe blinked out of existence.

"Dr. Warren, Peter was just helping me distinguish the phyla of organisms, especially the characteristics pertaining to Echinodermata."

"Didn't I just explain that, Miss Watson?"

"Well, I just thought I'd get a second opinion", she smiled.

An ugly nerve was clearly visible on Warren's temple. "Parker is one of my students, same as you. If you want clarification on some topic I expect you to approach me from next time."

For the next few minutes they busied themselves on the microscope, each taking notes on their respective observations. Warren was keeping a close eye on the both of them, so neither said a word to the other for the rest of the class.

"Okay, so _maybe_ I haven't been a great partner", Peter said at the end of a long twenty minutes.

"You're horrible. You lack manners, you're always late... _and_ you're untidy", she said as she plucked a strand of webbing from his hair. "What is this stuff?"

"Eh... Nothing. Just some syrup I had for breakfast"

But she wasn't even listening anymore; she was too busy trying to pull the sticky adhesive off her hands. He sighed to himself when he saw her leave for the washroom when it didn't come off.

_XXX_

Carlos scraped the floor with his dirty fingernails. He had no idea how much time had passed; prison cells usually tended not to have any windows or clocks, for that matter. This isolation from the outside world was supposed to be part of their punishment. A lack of contact with any social beings outside of their modest establishment was going to work wonders on them, or so they thought.

But if he had to wager, he would say it was definitely night. A total guess on his part, it could easily be day as well. Not that it mattered anyway, the people in here slept any time they wanted. And there was hardly anything to get up to.

"So how long we plannin' on staying here?", Martin enquired.

Martin was a perp from in and around Hell's Kitchen. He was _so_ small time that the one time he did get caught shoplifting he never even made it to prison. So basically, this was his first time in prison.

He had no idea why Dmitri had hired somebody like Martin on a job like theirs. Experience would always count higher in his books than fresh blood.

But then again, he had no idea why Dmitri did anything anymore. There was a time when he was sensible, when he used to be a team player. Bank jobs were their forte. They could pull one off as easy as you would like, and not to mention it paid well.

Profit had always been their goal. But now, especially after last night, he wasn't sure Dmitri and he shared the same intent.

"Planning?…. The plan. Yes! It's working," Dmitri mused from his dark corner. He hadn't spoken for a while.

"What's working?" Carlos asked.

"The plan 'e said," Martin whispered.

"What plan? There wasn't any plan, the plan failed."

But Dmitri remained silent. Was he ignoring him? Or was he _really_ thinking up a plan to bust them out. Either way, his silence bothered him. Was there something he knew that he didn't? It certainly seemed likely judging from his assured countenance. And this in turn bothered him even more.

There wasn't anything Dmitri did not share with him. Everything there was to know about him, he was already aware of including his past in Russia.

"Oy! What plan are you talking about?" he repeated.

Carlos fully expected him to ignore his question yet again. But what he _wasn't_ expecting was Dmitri **collapsing** to the ground in a fit.

" 'ELP! ", Martin shouted through the bars. "This guy is dying over 'ere! We need 'elp!"

Almost in an instant, a prison guard arrived at their cell. "Correctional Officer – Williams", his nametag read. Officer Williams was a quick study, and it took him mere seconds before he was issuing orders.

"You and you!" he yelled pointing at Martin and him. "Back against the wall and hands where I can see them! Now!"

Once they did his bidding, the officer walked into their cage and stooped by Dmitri's convulsing body.

"What the hell did you do to him?"

"We did nothing! He just collapsed."

"Then what the hell's wrong with him?"

Unable to distinguish a probable cause of injury, the officer pulled out his radio transceiver. But before he could call in for help, Dimitri launched himself off the ground, and tackled him.

"Call for help, and I'll kill you. Your choice," Dimitri whispered into his ear.

Alone in a room full of criminals, the guard seemed to understand that he was in a tight spot, so he nodded meekly.

"Good, we seem to understand each other! Martin!"

Martin walked up to the pair and pulled out the gun from the officer's belt. Using the butt of the gun, he knocked the officer out. Then, concentrating hard, he shot down the cameras on the ceiling. Once the cameras were destroyed, he crouched down beside the guard again, and pulled out something else. Something that looked like a white…. Mask?

Martin handed it over to Dmitri who unzipped the side, and pulled it over his head; a very strange deed considering they were inside a jail.

But looking at it, Carlos knew that it wasn't some cheap Halloween mask. This one had no distinctive facial features drawn over it. It was mottled and bizarre-looking, and had an eerie appearance when worn by a person.

"What?' he asked confounded.

"Watch", the masked Dmitri said.

But Carlos really wished he wasn't. He cringed as the mask folded in on itself, becoming almost leathery, its color shifted from polished white to a duller brown and rows of needles pop out from its top. No, not needles. Was that…. _Hair?_

It was a horrifying moment, to be looking into his eyes. To see the shape of his own forehead outlined on someone else's head, to see his receding hairline on someone else's scalp. And it took him even longer to realize what he was looking at - _himself_. Where Dmitri stood mere seconds ago, now stood an exact duplicate of Carlos Mendez.

"Wha-"

"Magical isn't it?" the duplicate gushed. Even the voice matched his.

"You….. you're a demon!"

"An astute observation!"the other Carlos cackled. "But _I_ am much more real!"

By now, Carlos had backed up against the wall. He had nowhere to run.

"Terrifying, isn't it? To look at oneself without a mirror. The fear is driving your brain nuts right now."

"NOO! Go away!" he screamed as the duplicate walked towards him.

"Oh I will. I plan to leave any second now. The guards have been alerted to our shenanigans already, but I will be long gone before they get here. But before I leave, something must be taken care of."

"What are you talking about!"

"You know too much about me, Carlos. I've trusted you in the past. I've told you things that I should never have told anybody. A major misstep on my part, but one I must rectify now."

"No! No, please! I won't betray you, I would never even think about it!"

"I'm not questioning your loyalty Carlos. Far from it! This is to make a point, to send a message, to establish my agenda! And after tonight, New York will take my act seriously!"

And the last thing Carlos remembered seeing, was his own face looking down at him in terrible and unsuppressed glee, before the gunshot erased everything.

_XXX_

"What do you mean they escaped?" Jameson barked.

For the umpteenth time that day, Peter wished JJJ didn't have such a thunderous voice. That guy could give you a splitting headache.

Two days had passed since his last visit to the Bugle, and with his pockets running dry once again, he had returned with a few more photographs of Spiderman, a.k.a. himself, to turn into some much needed cash.

"Just what I said, Jonah. The terrorists who attacked Rosemund Avenue, fled from prison. Is that so hard to understand?" a tall willowy guy in a brown turtleneck answered.

"I understand that _just_ fine, Urich! What I meant was – Why the _hell_ haven't I heard about this sooner?"

"Cuz' the cops are keeping this all under wraps! Mayor's orders. They want to keep the public from panicking"

"Bloody fools! They're trying to sweep this under the rug. What good will that do?"

"Not much, really. With elections right around the corner, the mayor has to keep up the pretense that all is well. He'd much rather have a lunatic out on the streets, than let his polls drop by a percent."

"Humph! Like I said, bloody fool!"

"But I'm afraid it gets worse. My sources tell me that the terrorists didn't just escape, but also kidnapped one of the prison guards."

"They what!?" it was Peter who exclaimed this time. But neither Jameson nor Urich paid any attention.

"A man by the name of Harold Williams. He served as a correctional officer at the institute."

"Why the heck would someone kidnap a prison _officer_? Have they demanded a ransom?"

"Not that I am aware of."

"Then what was the point?"

"Maybe it's some form of leverage."

"What leverage? They're already out of prison. They don't need to leverage anything."

"Then I don't know", said Urich stumped. "But, the story gets even juicier. After I had exhausted my source's quota, I went down to the prison. And from what I gathered, there was a death."

"A death!"

"Carlos Mendez. He was one of the three terrorists. It seems like he was killed before the rest of the guards arrived. I'd wager that one of his mates must have murdered him."

"No honor among thieves."

"Indeed."

"So now there's two instead of three?"

"Pretty much."

"How sure are you about this?"

"Pretty certain. It just depends on how much you trust me," Urich answered. "So, are you thinking of running this story?"

"I'll have to now, won't I? I can't have two raving psychos running around in the dark!". Jameson said, a frown on his face as he began to pace the room.

"True."

"And you're telling me no one else knows about this? The Times, the Post, no one?"

"Nope. It's going to be a Bugle exclusive"

"Pah! And here I was prepping up for a cover story titled 'Spiderman - A public menace!'

"Hey!" Peter protested, and yet again ignored.

"But I suppose I'll have to do your story now, won't I, Ben?" Jameson grumbled, and he didn't look too pleased.

"We have to do this, Jonah! If no one reports this, then imagine the chaos that will be unleashed on the streets. These men are dangerous!"

"The mayor won't be pleased, not one bit. If he's been trying to hide this, and we bring it to the public's attention, and well, he's going to bite my head off!"

"He's going to try. How many times had he attempted to kick you out of the Bugle? And yet here you are."

Jameson sat at his desk, an ugly twitch in his cheek muscle.

"Parker!" he called suddenly.

"Sir?"

"Have you brought the pictures?"

"A dozen, Sir."

"A pity!" Jameson sighed. "I'll pay you for the lot, but don't expect them to be front page material now! It seems I have bigger fish to fry"

Peter was more than glad with that. Front page or not, he was getting paid.

"Oh, and Jonah", Urich interrupted.

"What now?", Jameson barked.

"The leader of the terrorists - a man wearing a ghostly white mask. He seems to have some unique abilities"

"Abilities?"

"Yes….. If eyewitness accounts in the prison are to be believed, this guy can change appearances."

Jameson ogled at him for a while, completely dumbfounded.

"He can disguise himself. But not in a stage artist kind of way. This guy can take on the appearance of anyone he meets….. and that's actually how he escaped."

"And so what… he's some kind of a….. human chameleon?"

"A fair analogy… But in this case, I fear he can change more than colours"

_XXX_

Mary Jane was livid.

If Peter Parker didn't show up in the next fifteen minutes, she didn't care how many more apologies he sent, she was never _ever_ talking to him again. Their biology group assignment was way behind schedule, and she had no idea how they were supposed to catch up with the others.

What the hell was taking him so long? They were practically _neighbors._ Or had she forgotten to inform Peter that the venue was her house? That was possible as well.

She immediately picked up her phone, and rang him up.

" _Hi, this is Peter Parker! You've reached my voice mail. If you have an urgent message, you can leave it here and I'll get back to you as soon as possible! Have a good day!"_

Grr! Voice mail? She was _so_ going to kill him! What the heck was he doing right now?

'Parker! Where the heck are you? We have a Bio project to submit in two weeks. You're supposed to show up at my house! Get here now!" she screamed into the phone.

She plopped down on her bed, seething with rage at his irresponsible nature. Did grades mean nothing to him? Well, she was going to wait a few more minutes, just to be sure, and just in case he miraculously _did_ show up.

With nothing better to do, she switched on her monitor. After aimlessly surfing around for a while, she opened up her blog-site – RedheadCorner. The thread was _absolutely_ buzzing with comments from her readers. Her last post, uploaded a day ago, had already gathered quite a few following.

She read through a few of the comments, most of which were positive and very supportive.

Posted by **Madlyinlove42** at 4:58 p.m. - Reading through your article, I realized that this sort of terrorist attack is becoming quite common in our neighborhood, let alone the _world_! You were quite lucky to get out unharmed, and I must say I'm quite relieved! Imagine my grief if I found out my favorite blogger had….. um… hit the dirt (awkward!). P.S. I really am quite relieved!

MJ chuckled as she hit the like button. She scrolled down.

Posted by **Nachos799** at 8:01 p.m. : You go girl! Wow, your aunt was really brave getting you out of there # _auntsarecool_. Not many people have the presence of mind. But the question that's really weighing on my mind – Did you really see Spiderman take those goons out?

She hit the reply button and typed, "Yes, I did. Though I'm not entirely sure how much 'seeing' was involved. He's faster than you think."

She skimmed through the feedbacks; feeling extremely humbled by the number of comments the people had left. They had been quite generous towards her.

While responding to some of the queries, she was startled by a knock at her window. She almost had a heart attack when she saw Peter Parker's disheveled face looking in on her.

"It isn't… um….. opening. Could you let me in?", he asked pointing at the window hatch.

She hurried to the window and slid it open, allowing him to step in. He brushed his jacket and dropped his backpack on the floor.

"What?" she asked, not sure what was going on anymore.

"I…um…. Got your voice mail", he said with a goofy smile. "I almost forgot about it. Thanks for reminding me"

"But….", she gaped, as she pointed at her open window and then at him

"Oh that!", Peter said, his smile faltering.

"Yes! That exactly!"

"Well I tried to come in through the door first. I buzzed twice….. _thrice_ actually. But no one answered. And so I thought-"

Mary Jane smacked her head. "I _forgot_ Aunt Anna wasn't home! That's why no one answered your call"

"Yeah well, I didn't think that at the time. My reasoning was that you were… probably angry with me… and so you weren't letting me in."

"So, why didn't you leave?"

"I couldn't, could I?". He pointed at his phone, "You sent me the voice mail just ten minutes ago! So I knew you were inside, and probably thinking the worst of me"

Which she indeed had been. Trust Peter to make her feel guilty.

"So I did the only thing possible"

"Which was?"

"Use your fire escape."

She had no way of knowing if Peter was pulling her leg or not. But if he was, he had the best poker face she had ever seen in her life, "It's a fifty foot drop!"

"Yup!", he answered with his goofy grin.

"A fifty foot drop!", she repeated, unsure that he had heard her properly.

"Why do you have to be so incredulous? It wasn't that difficult!" he said, his grin faltering for a second.

Mary Jane shook her head in disbelief. The world had definitely gone crazy. Or maybe she had. Both outcomes were equally disturbing. But she couldn't dwell on the matter for too long as there was work to be done.

"Anyways", she sighed. "Now that you're here, we should get to work. We have two weeks before Warren turns us into those creepy skeletons he keeps in his office."

"Great!", Peter said, plopping himself down on the carpeted floor and pulling out a laptop from his bag. "I've already worked out a few pointers on what we can do. We can elaborate on those?"

"Well…..", MJ said. "I've actually got a few points of my _own._ So, well…"

"No, that's awesome. You work out your ideas on your desktop, and I'll do mine right here", he said pointing at his laptop. "And at the end of the hour, we'll compare what we've come up with. Sound good?"

"Yeah….. Let's do that"

And thus began their work. It was tedious and _really_ boring. They had minimal conversation while working, because neither wanted to disturb the other. On many occasions, MJ had to even consult her notes from Warren's class, though they weren't as helpful as she had hoped for.

But while she was struggling through her passage, Peter was literally flying. For every sentence she typed into the computer, he wrote an entire paragraph. His hands were a blur on the keypad. Halfway through the hour, she was amazed that his intensity hadn't dropped while she had slogged through her points.

And she couldn't help but feel a bit bitter at being outdone in such a way. But she knew that if it had been someone other than Peter, she could easily have held her own.

At the end of the hour they stopped their work, and MJ suggested a break to which Peter agreed.

She stepped out of her room, and collected a few snacks from the kitchen. She returned to the room with a tray laden with goodies.

"Here", she said, placing the tray on a table.

Peter, who had been sitting in her desktop chair and looking into the screen, shook violently as if startled by her voice.

"What's wrong? Did I scare you?" she asked, grinning.

"RedheadCorner", he said suddenly, pointing at the screen. "You write blogs?"

She looked at him, and then at her computer screen. "Hey! You're not supposed to read that.", she said as she closed the tab. "How'd you even find that?"

"It was already open. I wasn't prying….. not technically."

"Ever heard of _privacy_!"

Peter rolled his eyes. "You were there!"

"What?"

"You were on Rosemund Avenue during the attack!"

She looked up at him, "Yeah, I was"

"You could have died!", he said, a bit red in the face.

"Pff, not likely. Aunt Anna wouldn't have let me."

"And then you wrote a blog about it?"

"So, what if I did!", she said, challenging him.

For a moment, he seemed taken aback by her statement, "No, you're misunderstanding me. I didn't mean that in a bad way."

"Then how did you mean it?"

"It's just…. You could have been hurt."

She sat down on her swivel chair, and closed each tab on the browser. She couldn't believe how careless she had been.

"Your blog was nice though", he said meekly.

"Shut up"

"What? It really was!"

"You're just saying that to save your own skin."

"No I'm not!", he said. "It was _really_ good. I didn't know you could write that well."

"Humph!"

"How long have you been doing this?"

"Two years.", she said begrudgingly.

"Wow! That's a long time", he said thoughtfully. "Hey, can I read some more?"

"No!"

"Why not?"

"Because I said so!"

"But-"

"No!"

Peter blew up his cheeks, and looked away sulkily. He looked like a kid whose balloon had burst.

"Fine, can I ask you a question?", he said after a while.

"No."

"Well I'm going to ask anyway. Are you planning a career as a professional blogger?"

"No"

"Is that a no you're not going to answer my question, or a no you don't want to be a professional blogger?"

"No, I don't want to be a professional blogger!"

"Excellent! You answered my question.", he exclaimed. "So why _are_ you doing this?"

She looked at him. "Because….."

"Go on."

"Because this is important to me….. This is a lifeline, I can't let go of it…. And because I want to be a journalist"

"What? Seriously?", he said, impressed. "A journalist! Wow, that's a serious ambition."

"Yeah well… I like to think, it's my calling. It's the only worthy goal I can think of."

She didn't know why, but she was really glad that Peter simply nodded. He didn't say a word back or even tried to break the silence. He merely accepted her, for who she was and for who she wanted to become. It was a small thing, but it meant the world to her.

"Well you don't have to worry MJ. Your secret's safe with me."

"Somehow I doubt that."

"Trust me! I've seen my share of secrets."

She looked at him for a while, a realization striking her. "You know, from what I've seen at school, I always thought you to be quite tongue-tied. And yet here you are, annoying the crap out of me!"

"What can I say, I'm full of little surprises?"

"Nah, I think you're _just_ annoying!"

_XXX_


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER-4**

Over the next few days, Peter lost sense of time.

With his new job at the Bugle, his homework's, his Biology project with Mary Jane and last but certainly not the least, his nightly masquerades as Spiderman there was hardly any time to rest. On several occasions he found himself flying from one task to the next but not sufficiently dealing with either.

Primarily though, his mind was fixed on finding the missing man. November was about to come to an end, and there had been no sign of Harold Williams anywhere. He seemed to have disappeared into thin air along with his kidnapper – the man in the white mask.

Williams's wife, a tiny frail woman with pallid skin, had made several TV appearances begging the kidnappers to release him. If not for her, at least for the sake of their two children.

It was the picture of the weeping wife holding the two kids to her chest that fueled Peter's vigil every night. He just couldn't, in good conscience, allow this poor family to suffer.

And so he hunted for Harold.

Every night.

And every night he failed. And every night he returned home empty handed, tired to the bone and ready to pass out. And every night the picture of Uncle Ben, ornately framed on his bedside table, looked at him sternly as if to say "You have to try harder Pete!"

"Well I am trying, aren't I?" he would growl back, as he swayed uncontrollably for a while before hitting the bed. "But I just….. need some sleep"

And for a few blissful moments he would be lost in the world of dreams, only to wake up to the deafening ring of his bedside alarm.

And the cycle would repeat itself.

Meanwhile, the Daily Bugle had garnered quite the attention for publishing the article about the incident at the prison. And just like Jameson had predicted the Mayor tried to downplay the news.

But eventually the truth got out.

This led to a major popularity hike for The Bugle in terms of popularity.

People started to believe in them.

The next time Peter visited, Ben Urich was a celebrated hero around the bullpen. Even Jameson, who always seemed to be on a short fuse, was pleasant for the most part. From what he gathered, he'd only exploded once in the entire day, which was unprecedented.

Spiderman was no longer the center of attention in the Bugle daily anymore. The man in the white mask had replaced him. 'Chameleon – he could be walking among you!' was the headline on Monday. There was no picture but in spite of that the paper sold half a million copies.

One of those copies ended up with Peter, who scoured through it hoping there would be some lead in there, some inscrutable link that he had totally overlooked.

"Anything interesting in there?" MJ asked looking down at him from her swivel chair.

He was at her house slaving through the grueling project. With the deadline looming closer they had injected pace into their work.

"Not so much, except for the front page"

"Hey!" she exclaimed, pointing at the bold red headlines. "Isn't that the guy who attacked me and Aunt Anna?"

"Yup, except he wasn't called 'The Chameleon' back then. I _swear_ , they have got to be pulling these names out of a hat! But yeah, definitely the same guy"

"Hmph, fancy title for a criminal! But this guy certainly _does_ seem to be a cut above the rest"

"That he does", he sighed.

"Do you believe he can do it?", she asked looking straight at him.

"What?"

"Do you believe he can change appearances?"

"As clichéd as this sounds, I don't know what to believe", he turned his gaze back to the headlines. "But I do believe he needs to be stopped."

Even though he hadn't _truly_ expected the paper to help, he did feel slightly disappointed when he stowed it back into his pack. He was running out of options and Williams was running out of time.

That evening, out of sheer desperation and a lack of any real progress, he went shopping at a back-alley thrift store.

It was with an air of indecision that he stepped through the doors. His eyes squinted around in the dimly lit quarters as he scanned the second-hand equipment littered across the wall-racks. All of these were stolen, no doubt about it. He was in enemy territory now.

Nevertheless, he steeled his nerves and walked up to the frowning middle-aged man behind the counter. Not speaking a word, he slipped a piece of paper across the counter-top to the man, who glanced at the scribbled note and looked back at him with an ugly glare.

Peter quailed under his gaze, but the man soon shuffled off to the back of the room and returned with a shoddy brown package. Still glaring at him he dipped it upside down, unloading a dark brown radio on the counter-top.

"A police scanner for the esteemed _gentleman_ ", the man announced. "Was this what you needed?"

 _Exactly what I need,_ he thought as he saw the NYPD insignia attached to the top of the scanner. He had been searching for a police scanner for a while now. But he had never considered attaining it for _real_ until now, especially from a black-market dealer and yet here he was. The situation was indeed dire.

He nodded and with hurried movements stuffed the radio into his backpack. He began jogging the moment he exited the door.

 _It had to be done,_ he told himself as he increased his pace. If he couldn't find Harold Williams alone, then the cops might have some lead on him. If he could tune the dialer into the right frequency, which he would be able to do with this police scanner, then he would be able to listen in on the cops.

So with a somewhat relieved countenance, he walked the rest of the way back home.

_XXX_

"When you said you needed a place to hide, my client was more than willing to offer you this…..workshop. But it's been more than _two weeks_ now!"

"And that's a problem?"

"It is, my employer's _patience_ is running out."

"Is that why you're here? To deliver a message?"

"I am here to keep an eye on you. My client doesn't trust you and frankly, neither do I"

"I wonder why?"

"You're a loose cannon Mr. Smerdiyakov. Your actions are erratic like a whimsical overgrown baby!"

"Watch your tongue!"

"Don't believe me? What about the murder of Carlos Mendez?"

"It was necessary!"

"It was stupid! You have no regard for consequences and because of your ill-conceived acts, the cops have a target painted on your back!"

"The cops will never find me!"

"Then why do you hide from them? Why do you cower in this old abandoned theatre, which mind you, _my client_ so graciously arranged for!"

"If your _client_ feels _so_ troubled by my staying here, then why doesn't he just get rid of me?"

"Because you have a job to do Dmitri! You have not forgotten our arrangement have you?"

"Don't call me that!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Don't call me _Dmitri_! Or _Mr. Smerdiyakov_! Those aren't my names not anymore"

"Ah, I understand! The actor's dedication! To wear the mask at all times. Commendable!"

"Hardly"

"What was it they call you now? I remember reading about it on some paper. Brush up my memory would you?"

"The Chameleon!"

"Yes, the creature that changes colors. To hide from the prey? A coward! Just like you! An apt choice I must say"

"Mock me all you want Smythe. But you've only seen the beginning"

"The beginning of what?"

"My play"

"And what's to come?"

"The conflict!"

"This is no drama. You're not acting on some stage"

"On the contrary, this is _all_ a drama. We're all trapped in this act together!"

"Mm-hm, and what about your guest?"

"Williams?"

"He doesn't seem that happy with your hospitality. He hasn't been _harmonious_ with his treatment. Expected higher standards, I presume"

"He's been bothersome"

"Probably wishes to know why he's here?"

"Probably"

"And why _is_ he here?"

"You know why he's here. It's only a matter of time"

"He's a nobody. I checked his background details. His credentials has nothing of import. He is a system's lackey. How is he important to your plan?"

"You needn't worry about that Mr Smythe. I have everything where I need it to be"

_XXX_

It was early in December when Mary Jane had to decide the fate of her father's belongings.

After school she and her aunt drove up to a stateside storage facility. Now that Philip Watson was dead, their old house in Carolina had been put up for sale immediately, courtesy of MJ's own volition. She no longer wanted to live there, not when she had a perfectly good aunt waiting to take her in.

But with the house out of the way, her father's meager belongings were still to be taken care of. And truth be told, MJ had been _dreading_ it. To be in close proximity to all those vile furniture and paintings of which she held so many dark and painful memories, was frightening to her.

But her aunt had convinced her to come, and after many stubborn sessions she had agreed.

 _Can't be that bad_ , she told herself as she walked through the plain white metallic doors into a sprawling furniture space. A man stood behind a woodland counter, a registry book spread out in front of him. Her aunt walked over to him and began talking while she roamed the giant storage hall.

Her footsteps echoed across the room and a faint smell of varnish hit her nose. Dozens of paraphernalia were stocked across the room, all covered in plain white cotton sheets.

As she walked deeper into the space, weaving through the aisles, her aunt's voice grew dimmer. At the very back of the room, she found something that belonged to her. A tiny wardrobe closet.

It was strange. She always remembered it boarded to the wall next to the desk back in her old claustrophobic bedroom. But to see it here in a massive echoing hall with dozens of other odds and ends, almost made her believe that it wasn't hers.

But she knew it was hers. The creaky sound it made when she pulled the door open, the chipped nail marks on the side of the wooden paneling. Yup, this was definitely hers.

And almost unwillingly she recalled the innumerable times she hid inside this thing when her father came home drunk and volatile. He would yell for her, ask her to come downstairs. But she never had the courage to do so.

" _MARY JANE! Get down here! Where's my food? Why are the lights all switched off? MARY JANE!"_

She would shudder in fear every time she heard his bellows.

But instead of heeding his words, she would lock herself inside this closet and wait in the dark, wait in fear.

She didn't fear the dark in the beginning, but eventually, the fear of hiding from her father inside this wardrobe for hours on end, made her terrified of it. It had passed on; almost like father to daughter, but in a twisted sense.

She swung the door shut, along with the memory. That's when the realization hit her.

It almost felt like she was living two different lives.

One, which existed in that small messy bedroom on Carlton Street, Carolina in that small messy bedroom, under a constant fear of abuse from her father, and the other in Queens with her aunt but without her father.

Both these parts had a distinct line etched between them.

She could find no connection between them.

And that's when she made up her mind. She wound her way out of the furniture space back to the counter.

Her aunt jerked up her eyebrows. "Anything interesting back there?"

"Not really", she replied tightly.

"Didn't find any of your stuff?"

"I did"

"Do you want to keep it? There's not much space at our home but I'm sure we could make do-"

"No"

"Sorry?"

"I don't want anything."

A worried expression came upon Aunt Anna's face, "Are you sure?" Then she lowered her voice, "I know it's difficult for you, but maybe we can take what we need and leave some of the more distasteful stuff behind?"

"No", she replied.

"No?"

"No, I don't want any of it," she said looking straight at her aunt. "It's just… for what's it worth, I like my life now. Compared to Queens, I'd been leading a miserable existence in Carolina."

"And I realized just now, that this is my chance to leave everything behind. To move on."

Her aunt chuckled. "Mary Jane, we hardly _ever_ move on. Trust me when I tell you I speak from experience. If only we could leave behind the things we regret without them ever coming back to haunt us."

"Maybe so. But I see no reason to wait for that day"

Her aunt scrunched up her eyebrows, "You sound like a sage. I should start buying fortune cookies from you."

She laughed and covered her mouth with the back of her hand. She tried to imagine herself as a wizened old man sitting on top of a snowy mountain – Hilarious. Her aunt smiled, a glint in her eye. "I probably have said this before, but I'm proud of you"

"So what do you reckon we do with all the paraphernalia?"

"Hmm, well, we get rid of it."

"How?", she asked, a small smile playing at her lips.

"We sell it off, and use the money for your college tuition. Sounds good?"

"Did I ever tell you you're my favorite aunt?"

"I'm your only aunt."

"Then you're one of a kind."

"Truly", her aunt said a bit uncomfortable with the praise. "But you can lay low on the buttering"

"Not a chance"

_XXX_

On their way back home, her aunt dropped her off in the neighboring block.

"Back before ten!" she announced from inside the car, as she rolled down the window to her side.

"You gotcha" MJ answered as she stepped out.

"Your dinner will be waiting on the table when you get back."

"Right."

"And if you're not hungry, you pop it back into the fridge. Okay?"

"Yup"

There were a few more pointers she issued before rolling out of the driveway.

She took a deep breath when she saw the blue Pontiac leave, only to turn at the next block. She climbed the stairs behind her. The apartment the Parker's lived in, were almost identical to hers.

At the top of the stairs, she buzzed for the third floor.

"Who is it?" a voice crackled through the intercom.

"Mary Jane Watson. I had a group project with Peter Parker"

"Oh, its you, dear! Come right in!"

It was her first time visiting his apartment. All this while they had been working in her house so she'd called for a change of venue.

Luckily, he was her neighbor so there wasn't much hassle involved. And Anna had been more than happy to have her out of the house.

An obliging woman greeted her as she stepped in through the door.

"You must be MJ?"

"Yeah", she replied. Aunt May looked exactly like Peter had described - Brown hair that cascaded down to her shoulders, and a 'cool as a cucumber' expression on her face.

"Peter told me you were a redhead. But my, that hair must draw quite the attention!"

"It does", she replied in a clipped tone.

"Oh no! I didn't mean to offend you", replied Aunt May huffily. "It's a very pretty color. That's what I meant"

"Oh…", she blushed. "Sorry"

"It's okay dear. Peter's in his room, just down the hall, second door to the left."

"Right", she muttered. As she made her way down the hall she could feel May's eyes bore into her back.

She had no trouble finding Peter's room because for one the door was covered with millions of multi-colored post-it notes and movie posters from the late 80's. Half of the notes were covered with inspirational quotes that he himself had scribbled down on them.

One of them read, 'Life is like an oyster. Every time it opens up, you gotta grab the gooey stuff!'.

She snorted. Annoying though he might be, Peter Parker wasn't a dimwit. Only he was capable of writing cheesy stuff like this. She knocked on the door.

"Coming!" Peter's voice came from within.

She heard a shuffling from within, and then a giant thunk. "Crap", Peter said from inside. "Give me a minute"

It was a while before he swung the door open, a hand rubbing the back of his neck.

"Sorry about that", he muttered. "Knocked some books over. Come on in."

Though she wasn't entirely sure what she had been expecting, she found Peter's bedroom to be fairly nice. It wasn't a big hodge-podge or smelly like she had imagined a teenage boy's room to be.

"It isn't much", he said walking over to his desk. "But make yourself at home"

Once she was done examining the iconic movie posters on the walls, she turned her eyes back to Peter who was standing stiffly looking at her with a slight red face. This immediately caught her as a bit strange. From all the times she had talked with him he seemed easy-going, but now he looked like a sun-dried piece of cardboard. He seemed shy and tongue-tied.

Was it because he had a girl in his bedroom?

She cleared her throat, a slight blush spreading across her face. "So…"

"W-what?" he asked, fidgeting with his hands.

"Nice place"

"I know…. I – I mean… Thanks"

The silence between them laid so awkwardly she had to do her best not to screw up her eyes.

"Could I get some-"

"Water?" Peter finished and immediately blushed to his ears. "Be right back"

The moment he walked out, she heaved a sigh of relief. When did the room get so hot? She couldn't recall Peter ever being so nervous around her.

Or maybe she had only imagined him to be so easy-going and friendly. Maybe he had always been shy and nervous, and she had only been blind to it. They had met up only two or three times now but he had always seemed more annoying that nervous.

She stopped pondering when Peter returned to the room. And thankfully he seemed better now, not quite as red in the face or fidgety.

"Here", he said passing her the glass of water.

"Thanks", she muttered as she took it from him, but as she did her fingers grazed across his calloused knuckles and he reddened again. Rubbing the nape of his neck, he turned around and seated himself at the edge of his bed, away from her.

She smiled beside herself as she gulped down the water.

"Do you always wear clothes twice your size?", she asked pointing at his baggy t-shirt.

"What?", he asked clearly taken off guard. He looked down at his shirt and seemed to realize where he was. "Oh, you mean…. Yeah, it's my uncle Ben's. He was bigger than me….", he turned crimson. "I m-mean bigger in torso proportions… not in…. you know….."

"I don't actually", she replied innocently. She knew a stupid grin was about to escape her lips.

But Peter looked absolutely mortified. He was glancing to and fro between her and the door, as if planning an escape. And suddenly the grin that she had been stifling broke out.

Was this the real Peter Parker? All the time they had spent cooped up at her bedroom working on the biology project he had always annoyed her with his stupid commentary. But watching this side of him was…. Different.

At school, he was always the 'keep your head down and get through the day' kind of kid. Almost half her class had the opinion that Peter was the shy and immaculate kid with good grades, and he hardly ever bothered anyone. But around her he was a jerk and a bothersome project partner.

But now that they were somewhat close, it seemed like his true self was starting to show. He was…

"Adorable," she grinned in between her sips.

"What?" he asked shifting his gaze back at her.

"Nothing" she replied. "Just said thanks for the water"

But he didn't seem convinced. His eyes skittered towards the door again as if still contemplating an escape.

"What's that?" she said suddenly, spotting a dark brown box sitting on Peter's desk. She might have been born in the Internet era but she could definitely identify a radio when she saw one.

Peter immediately jumped up from the bed and stuffed the thing into his drawer, but not before she spotted an NYPD symbol on top of it.

"It's nothing", he said covering his desk.

"Dude, you have a police scanner? Where did you get it?"

"It's my…. Uncle's!", he said with a painful smile. "Yeah, my uncle um…. left me his police scanner."

 _Of course he did_ , she thought. How many dead uncles left police scanners to their nephews as gifts?

"Right," she deadpanned sarcastically.

But Peter was wiggling his eyebrows in worry. Obviously she had seen something he didn't want her to see.

"Work!", he exclaimed suddenly. "We have to work! Deadlines! Warren! Let's get to work!"

And so for the time being, she put her thoughts aside.

_XXX_

When MJ finally left, Peter heaved a massive sigh of relief. He had acted stupidly all night.

He didn't know _why_ though. It almost seemed like the more time he spent with her the more nervous and fidgety he got, which was strange because usually the opposite was true.

But of course, he wasn't the average crowd. He was a nervous wreck when it came to girls.

He massaged his head, as the events of the night replayed in his head. He cringed when he remembered the 'my uncle is bigger' comment – It was a classic example of Parker smooth talk falling flat. He hoped Mary Jane hadn't thought too badly of him.

A knock on his open door startled him. Aunt May stood at the door with a grin plastered on her face.

"Smell that, kiddo?"

He sniffed the air. "Lemme guess…. Fried chicken?"

"Dead wrong"

"What then?" he asked in mock disbelief. "I'm never wrong at 'guess the food'."

"Well you are this time. Because I smell victory!"

"Really?

"Mm-hm, and the prize is all yours!"

"What?"

"You like her" She said.

Peter gaped at her grinning visage. "What are you talking about?"

"You like Mary Jane, don't you?", it was stated more as a fact than as a question.

He merely ogled at her, an involuntary blush creeping up his neck. "Wha-"

"You have a crush on her. I've been watching your cozy little talk from the hallway, and my my, you are _absolutely_ crushing on that girl!"

"I-I'm not crushing on… I don't have a…. She's my project partner!", he shouted at her finally.

But she ignored him. "Well, I can't blame you. That girl definitely is quite the beauty, and not to mention that hair is absolutely gorgeous. Though on second thought, I would like a bit more meat on those bones."

"Aunt May!", he said, mortified now.

"What?" she grinned innocently. "Just saying that she's hot, dear! You don't have to sweat it"

"Stop!", he said waving his hands frantically. He didn't want to talk about girls with his aunt. That was a territory he wasn't prepared to broach lightly.

"And the way your eyes went all googly and round, it was so cute!"

At that point Peter jumped on top of his bed and wrapped a pillow around his ears. His aunt looked at him in surprise, and then smirked.

"You may try to fool yourself Peter, but I know you like that girl", she mouthed at him.

And then thankfully, she walked out of his room leaving him alone with his thoughts.

_XXX_


End file.
